


what is love?

by Yersina



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Romantic Gestures, Sharing a Bed, if it's not obvious from the tags this is just Sap and Fluff all the way through, like very very canon compliant if that's not your thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yersina/pseuds/Yersina
Summary: It takes Jisung ten minutes of staring across the room at the dark shape of Jeongin’s bed, wide eyed and mind still clear of the haze of sleep, to realize that he’s not going to sleep any time soon. It takes another thirty seconds for that realization to become an itch in his bones, an all-encompassing urge with a thread of guilt that he’s just lying there, not doing anything and wasting all that time.Not another twenty seconds later, he’s carefully reaching over for his phone and squinting against the brightness of his notes app, deciding that if he can’t sleep, he might as well get something out of it. It’s still open to their brainstorming session from earlier, but staring at the jumble of thoughts, Jisung doesn’t feel any of the ideas call to him. The darkness of the room, the weak light of the morning sun that Jisung can almost trick himself into thinking is there, the periodic tickle of Minho’s steady breaths against his skin—there’s an atmosphere there that Jisung doesn’t realize he’s succumbed to until he’s staring at the title of the new note he opened.what is love?
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	what is love?

**Author's Note:**

> ~~apparently i wrote this in may and completely forgot about it for over half a year?~~
> 
> “sina,” you might be saying, “why do all of your fics involve lovestruck staring in bed?” i just live for soft boyfriends minsung who are completely and utterly in love with each other and it shows, okay???

Jisung slips into his room quietly, doing his best not to disturb Jeongin. God knows all of them need more sleep, but Jeongin especially was prone to waking up at the slightest disturbance, and Jisung wasn’t in any mood to fend off a cranky roommate.

He thanks his past self for the foresight to shower and brush his teeth before coming into the room and quickly strips and pounces onto the bed, only to bump into limbs that are already occupying it.

“Took you long enough,” Minho grumbles, low enough that Jeongin’s breathing doesn’t even stutter. “I left the building at two. Where have you been?”

“Sorry, we were so caught up that we didn’t notice the time.” Jisung doesn’t bother to mention that it’s only him and Changbin that came home. Minho probably already suspects anyway. He nudges Minho’s shoulder and settles contentedly into the space that Minho creates for him, back pressed to Minho’s front. “Comeback concept brainstorming session today.”

Minho makes a sleepy noise of interest but buries his face in Jisung’s neck without asking any questions. “Tell me more when my brain isn’t leaking out my ears,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the nape of Jisung’s neck and sending a shiver up his spine.

“You sure that’s not just your natural state of being?” Jisung can’t resist teasing, laughing as softly as possible when Minho whines in irritation and curls up more tightly against Jisung’s back.

“Sleepy but can still kick your ass,” Minho threatens half-unintelligibly. “Sleep, sleep.”

“Okay, okay.” Jisung squeezes Minho’s hand reassuringly and counts the breaths until Minho drops off to sleep, hand slackening in his grasp and breathing slowing down. It’s a ritual that he takes comfort in, knowing that Minho is safe and asleep and dreaming.

It takes him ten minutes of staring across the room at the dark shape of Jeongin’s bed, wide eyed and mind still clear of the haze of sleep, to realize that he’s not going to sleep any time soon. It takes another thirty seconds for that realization to become an itch in his bones, an all-encompassing urge with a thread of guilt that he’s just lying there, not doing anything and wasting all that time.

Not another twenty seconds later, he’s carefully reaching over for his phone and squinting against the brightness of his notes app, deciding that if he can’t sleep, he might as well get something out of it. It’s still open to their brainstorming session from earlier, but staring at the jumble of thoughts, Jisung doesn’t feel any of the ideas call to him. The darkness of the room, the weak light of the morning sun that Jisung can almost trick himself into thinking is there, the periodic tickle of Minho’s steady breaths against his skin—there’s an atmosphere there that Jisung doesn’t realize he’s succumbed to until he’s staring at the title of the new note he opened.

_ what is love? _

Jisung finds it difficult to write about love. Changbin has written the lyrics for most of the ones they’ve released since their debut because despite appearances, Changbin has always been the most sentimental and romantic of their trio, and Chan has always been more than happy to let Changbin take the reins. Even Jisung’s competitive nature can admit that Changbin is much better at writing sappy lyrics than he is. 

The lack of romantic lyrics at his fingertips doesn’t really bother him. He’s always found love to be kind of a… simple topic anyway. His mind will twist itself in knots worrying and thinking and worrying and thinking, but he’s never had to question the crescent-eyed smile that Minho gives him when Jisung goes to find him for dinner or the arm that’s currently draped over his waist.

(That’s not quite true either— 

Jisung tries not to think about it very much, the complete confusion that had gripped him for several weeks after he’d met Minho, wondering what each smile-touch-laugh meant. It’s so much easier to just forget the awful swoop his stomach would do when Minho asked him if he wanted anything from the convenience store or the rapid thumping of his heart in his throat before he asked if he could tag along with Minho instead. 

Instead, he prefers to look back fondly on the hours-long conversations that they would have afterwards, talking about anything and everything and nothing out of the eyes of managers and makeup artists and the lens of cameras until the sky grew dark and the streetlights highlighted the arch of Minho’s cheekbones. He remembers the fluttering in his chest, the feeling of  _ am I special I must be he’s so special to me, _ and overlooks the jealousy, the bitterness and betrayal that rose up unbidden when he would see Minho hand Jeongin a roll of kimbap during a break in their dance practice the next day. 

But he’s never doubted that Minho  _ cares, _ and he’s here now, free to leech off Minho’s body heat to his heart’s content, so how much does that month or two of teenage angst really matter?)

Jisung tentatively adds  _ simple _ to the list, but he already knows there’s nothing to be found there.  _ Simple _ is too, well, simple to properly encapsulate the warm steady feeling he gets when Minho unerringly seeks him out in the car to their schedules or when he comes back to the dorm, half-asleep on his feet and finds Minho in his bed. 

He half-heartedly jots down a few synonyms— _ comfort, fondness, familiarity. _ None of them feel quite right—though the last one gives him pause, because after spending so long together,  _ familiar _ is as good a descriptor as any. Minho is more familiar to him than the back of Jisung’s hand and there are days when Jisung feels like Minho knows him better than Jisung knows himself. 

(“Happy birthday,” Minho tosses over his shoulder when he finds Jisung in his bed, flat on his back and eyes trained on his phone. Jisung had been the first one back from their break for Chuseok and had tossed his clothes somewhere on his bed to put away later before settling into Minho’s bed for the next couple of hours. 

Jisung sees Minho move to his closet out of the corner of his eye, and the sound of zippers being unfastened tells him that Minho’s unpacking his things. “Shame on you, hyung, you’re a couple days too late on that one,” Jisung replies mournfully, watching giraffes lope gracefully across his screen. “You’ve lost your chance.”

“Excuse me?” Minho’s outrage easily rings over the sound of fabric on fabric. “I texted  _ and _ called you day of.”

“It’s not enough.” Jisung clicks his tongue in disappointment. “I demand recompense.”

Minho scoffs. “You’re lucky that I don’t come over there and hit you, spoiled brat.”

“Can you even make it over here in your old age?” Jisung can’t resist teasing, and lets out a shriek when Minho abruptly drops all of his clothes and storms over. As soon as Minho’s fingers find all the ticklish spots along his sides, it quickly gives way to laughter, and Jisung is left gasping for breath when Minho finally takes mercy on him and sits up. 

“Spoiled  _ and  _ disrespectful—what are they teaching children these days?” Minho shakes his head in disappointment.

Jisung just laughs. “You realize you just called yourself old.”

Minho sputters incoherently until he finally gives up on responding and instead just jabs Jisung in the side one last time before throwing his body weight across Jisung’s torso. “And to think I was planning on giving your present just now.”

Jisung immediately perks up, craning his head to look at Minho. Minho gives the  _ best _ presents. “I take it back, you’re not old. You look so young and handsome, hyung, I can’t believe you’re not younger than me.”

Minho gives him a deadpan look, but Jisung can see the humor shining in his eyes. “Wooow,” he drawls. “That was so convincing. I really believed you.” 

Jisung worms a hand out from under Minho’s body and pokes a finger into his cheek, tilting his head to the side cutely. “Minho-hyungie—” He breaks off into laughter when Minho scrambles to get off him before the second syllable has even left his mouth. “Wait, no, come back,” he says through his chuckles. He reaches out a hand and snags Minho’s wrist before he can run too far, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Can I have my birthday present?”

“Only if it means you’ll stop doing… whatever that is,” Minho says with a shudder.

“What, you don’t find me cute?” Jisung pouts. “I’m insulted as your friend and group mate  _ and _ boyfriend.”

“No one looks cute while doing aegyo, not even you,” Minho reports succinctly, but drops a kiss on Jisung’s forehead before he shuffles back over to his suitcase. It doesn’t elicit the burning cheeks and quickened pulse that it did when they first started dating, but it does bring a soft flush to his face and a warm flutter to his heart. “It’s actually kind of two gifts, but it’s also mostly just one gift—you’ll get it when you see it.”

Interest piqued, Jisung watches curiously as Minho pulls out a remarkably well-wrapped box. He rolls to his feet and pads over, dropping down next to Minho and taking the box from him. “Any hints?” he asks, shaking the box gently. The contents inside clatter dully, and Jisung can feel the grin grow on his face at the familiar sound. “Is this—”

Not waiting to hear a response, he tears open the wrapping paper and is greeted with the sight of the box of the puzzle that he’s been eyeing for a while but never got around to buying because a fragile cardboard picture built from a million tiny pieces is a recipe for disaster in a dorm full of teenage boys. 

“Oh—” Jisung looks up in time to see Minho also pull a picture frame from a separate bag that he somehow hadn’t noticed until now. “You really liked the puzzle I gave you last year, and I know you’re always complaining about wanting to do puzzles but not knowing what to do with them when you’re done, so I got this picture frame custom made—are you okay?” The bewildered concern in Minho’s voice is just fuel on the fire and Jisung sniffles before harshly scrubbing his arm across his face. 

He doesn’t know why there are tears suddenly welling up in his eyes, but he’s suddenly so aware of how Minho  _ cares. _ He cares enough to know that Jisung likes building things with his hands, likes the methodicalness of it and watching the final product come together. He cares enough to know that Jisung rarely indulges that hobby anymore because it’s just not practical, with too many people and too little time. And he cares enough to get it anyway. It’s completely ridiculous for Jisung to be leaking tears instead of jumping for joy right now, but he’s always been one of the first to cry and it leads to Minho pulling him into his arms, so really, it’s not as bad as it could be.

“Thanks,” he chokes out once he feels like he can take a breath without it trembling in his lungs. “I love it.”)

There’s love that can be found in familiarity, Jisung knows, a love that feels synonymous with friendship and  _ family. _ It’s something that he’s discovered with Minho, sure, but also with the rest of their little tight-knit self-made group too. Over and over and over again, first with Chan and then Changbin, until he’d found himself a group of people that he can’t imagine living without. 

Jisung laughs then, the sound barely louder than Minho’s heavy breaths behind him, because he realizes that they’ve already written this love song. They’ve written this song with so many words in so many ways because it’s the love they know best, and Jisung knows they’ll be writing many more, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of singing about the bonds that have changed his life. 

But it’s not quite a  _ love _ song, at least not one that he can write for Minho without also writing about the others. Minho is  _ special, _ special in a way that’s friendship and laughter and smiles, but also precious like shared breaths in darkness. If Jisung’s going to brainstorm an idea for a love song, he wants it to be as meaningful and unique as the soft smile Minho gives him on the weekends, the feeling that tickles the inside of his ribcage when Minho makes sure to individually introduce him to each of his cat siblings, the elation and nervousness that crawl up the back of his throat when they get dinner together, just the two of them, like it would be a date if only one of them reached over and grabbed the other’s hand.

(They nearly slip up the first time they go out. Jisung is  _ ecstatic, _ high off the relief of staring into Minho’s eyes (or rather, catching glimpses of Minho’s startled expression in between tracing the grain of the hardwood floor, but that’s neither here nor there) and stumbling halfway through a hastily composed confession before Minho cuts him off with a wide grin, clapping two hands on either side of Jisung’s face and telling him that he feels the same. 

(Jisung wouldn’t admit it to  _ anyone, _ not even Chan, because they’d all tell him that he’s being ridiculous, that saying Minho likes him back is about as obvious as saying the sky is blue, but Jisung had been _ terrified. _ Because Jisung doesn’t know how to love anything other than wholeheartedly, because Jisung fell in love with music and moved away from his family to pursue it, because Jisung came to love Chan and stood by him faithfully when Chan told him about their self-made idol group, because Jisung laid eyes on a lanky dancer who was as shy as he was talented and realized  _ he’s ours now. _

Because Jisung doesn’t know what he would’ve done if Minho didn’t love him back.)

But once Jisung’s hands stop shaking and they stop grinning at each other like maniacs, Minho gets a glint in his eyes that reminds Jisung of stolen desserts and snowball fights, and he tugs Jisung right out of the dorm and down the street to the 24 hour cafe even though neither of them remember to bring a mask to hide their faces and it’s one in the morning and neither of them should even be looking at caffeine. 

Minho buys them each a hot chocolate and a piece of cake to share and they sit there for hours, talking about everything except for whatever it is that they are now, and Jisung’s heart  _ aches _ with how much it feels like a date, how much he wants it to be a date even though it  _ can’t _ be, for so many different reasons. But Minho is close enough, his laughter bright enough that Jisung can make himself  _ believe _ for these twilight hours. 

It’s when they’re sneaking back into the dorm that Jisung dares to take Minho’s hand, and the feeling of Minho’s palm pressed against his own is somehow so much more intimate than the handful of almost-kisses that they’ve had on camera. Minho raises an eyebrow at the gesture, but there’s a dusting of pink across his cheeks, so Jisung just returns the look with a smile. 

They run into Chan as soon as they step past the threshold, and they hadn’t quite planned on hiding it from their group mates but hadn’t quite planned on revealing anything so soon either, but Chan takes one look at their linked hands and pulls them into the living room quietly. 

“I’m so happy for you guys, honestly,” he tells them seriously, voice hushed but earnest. “But you have to be careful. You both know what the company will do if they find out,” and Chan doesn’t have to name names for the fate of other idols, publicized or not, to flash through Jisung’s mind. There’s a sadness in Chan’s eyes that makes a guilty lump grow in Jisung’s throat, because this is Chan’s  _ dream _ and their  _ team  _ and he doesn’t want to be the one who was stupid enough to mess it up. 

It’s Minho who breaks the silence, nodding and shrugging in one motion. “People were already theorizing anyway. We’ll just let them keep theorizing.” It’s something that sounds easier said than done, but they don’t have any other option, and from the resigned exasperation on Chan’s face, he knows it too. 

“Be careful,” he warns again, and pulls Jisung aside separately once Minho goes to change for bed. “Jisungie…” he trails off, but Jisung can fill in the blank for himself. Sometimes Jisung himself forgets it, but he and Chan have known each other the longest, and there’s a careful concern that fills Chan’s voice that reverberates somewhere deep inside Jisung.

He ducks his head and pulls Chan into a hug and lets himself soak in the warmth. “I know, hyung. But I think it’s worth it.”

Chan just sighs deeply, ruffling the loose strands of hair at the top of Jisung’s head. They stand there for a long time, silent except for the sound of their heartbeats.)

It feels ironic to Jisung, sometimes, how much everyone knows about their relationship. He’s seen the comments, he knows what they look like on camera, and it’s partly for show but it also stomps so hard on the line of truth that his heart still skips a beat every time Minho swoops in for an almost-kiss or Jisung initiates skinship a little too often. 

(Neither of them are stupid enough to forget masks and a camera again, but sometimes… sometimes Jisung  _ wishes. _

He’s not sure what he’s wishing for.)

They’re consistent though, always straddling the line of friendship and maybe-something-more, and the rumors just stay rumors. He knows half their fans ship them together and the other half insist they’re best friends, and it should be terrifying to be constantly on the edge of discovery, but mostly he’s just happy because they’re both right. He had the fortune of falling in love with his best friend, doing something that both of them love to do, with people that they love to do it with. 

Hopefully all of those things will stay that way for as long as all of them dare to dream bigger.

He nearly shrieks when Minho shifts behind him and sighs loudly into his ear. “I thought I told you to go to sleep,” Minho murmurs. “What are you writing? ‘What is love’?” There’s hardly anything written on the page but Jisung’s cheeks are already radiating heat by the time Minho sluggishly moves his arm up and turns Jisung’s phone off for him, plunging them into darkness again. “You getting all sappy on me in the middle of the night when I can’t even enjoy it?”

“When have you ever enjoyed me being sappy,” he shoots back in a whisper. “Do I need to remind you about the time I tried to celebrate our one month anniversary and you tried to kill me with my pillow?”

“It was necessary to rid the world of an evil,” Minho intones solemnly.

“An evil—” Jisung wriggles around under the covers until he’s facing Minho’s chest, but loses the words building up in his throat to the affectionate smile that he can just barely make out on Minho’s face in the light from the moon. “Um,” he squeaks out instead, and curses himself when Minho’s smile edges wider into an amused grin.

“Love is you, Han Jisung,” Minho says apropos of nothing, as if it wouldn’t suck all of the breath out of Jisung’s lungs, like it isn’t the most ridiculous combination of words Jisung has ever heard— “Now  _ go the fuck to sleep.” _ And then Minho has the audacity to close his eyes and pretend to go to sleep. 

Jisung sputters ineffectually, cheeks feeling like they could be heating the entire room with how warm they feel. “You can’t just  _ say _ things like that,” he hisses. “Look me in the eye, you coward.”

“I’m loving this pillow talk, sweetheart,” Minho murmurs back, eyes still shut, “but can you save it for tomorrow morning? I’m tired, and it’s more morning than night already.”

“You’re completely ridiculous.” Jisung’s tempted to stay awake out of pure spite, but the longer he stares resentfully at Minho’s calm face, the longer his blinks get and the closer he slips into sleep, until he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. There’s something he wants to say though, before he falls asleep, and it takes until the third time he jerks awake abruptly before he remembers what it is. “Hey, Minho-hyung.”

“Hm?” There’s a furrow between Minho’s brows when he hums, and Jisung blinks sleepily at it, wondering what it would be like to kiss it. “What is it?”

“Love you too,” he mumbles half-into the pillow. He hears an amused huff and the sound of shifting sheets before there’s a gust of breath against his forehead and the press of lips, and falls asleep with a smile on his face and warmth in his heart.

( _ I love you, I love you, I love you. _ It’s a drumbeat in Minho’s heart, one that grows a little louder every time he sees Jisung’s gummy smile or hears him shouting with the others when they’re playing video games in the living room or feels Jisung slide under his covers and join him in watching YouTube videos for an entire afternoon. 

It’s a rhythm constantly playing in his ears, one that fades in and out but never disappears. It stays locked behind his teeth though, the words too clumsy in his mouth to be used with the quick nonchalance that Jisung lets slip when Minho pays for their food or gives him the last piece of candy or curls around him in the dark and they’re both about to fall asleep. Minho’s never been one for sentiment, and he doesn’t know how to start now. He trades in insults and pointed barbs, not declarations of love, and even though Jisung never mentions anything about it, the silence feels overwhelming on Minho’s end.

One day, he’s looking for Jisung to show him a documentary about a lady with thirty six cats. It’s almost midnight, but most of the group is still up because they’re all a little bit nocturnal at heart, and they don’t have anything scheduled until the afternoon the next day. It takes two rooms and a clueless shrug from Jeongin before he checks the nook behind the couch in the living room, and sure enough, Jisung is curled into a ball on the ground, fast asleep. 

Minho rolls his eyes and puts his phone away, wondering whether or not to wake him up. Jisung needs the sleep, but if he continues sleeping there, he’s going to wake up with a crick in his neck, and  _ all _ of them are going to be hearing about it.

Mind made up, he bends down and does his best to scoop Jisung into his arms without straining his back or poking Jisung’s spleen in the process. “Stop sleeping in such weird places,” he hisses. “You’re too heavy for me to carry you around everywhere.”

“You’re just too weak, hyung,” Jisung murmurs, eyes opened just a sliver. Minho curses his weak heart for stuttering at the glimmer of amusement in their depths and the sleepily amused expression on Jisung’s face.

“If you’re awake, it’s not my problem anymore,” Minho declares, throwing his hands up and going to stand up from his awkward crouch, but Jisung catches his sleeve before he can go anywhere.

“Nooooooo,” he whines, and it’s completely unfair how cute he looks. “Onwards, trusty steed.”

“It’s amazing how you think that’ll endear me to you,” Minho deadpans, but he can already feel his resolve weakening anyway. “Your room is literally right there.”

“But you’re right here.” Jisung’s pleading eyes could be weaponized. “Pleeeease, hyung.”

Minho rolls his eyes and turns his back to Jisung. “Get on, you idiot.” Jisung’s quiet ‘yay’ doesn’t make Minho smile at all, nope. Minho is not at all endeared by his boyfriend’s cute antics and is only and entirely annoyed at being forced to carry him back to his own room.

Minho deposits Jisung onto his bed, making sure that he ends up at least somewhat under the covers, and in a moment of deja vu, Jisung catches his sleeve when he turns to leave. “What is it,” he says, trying to sound as flat as possible, but the small smile on Jisung’s face automatically gentles the blow. Jisung looks happy and sleepy and content the way Soonie does when she curls up in a patch of sunshine, and it makes Minho’s heart  _ do things. _

“Love you too, hyung,” Jisung says softly, and Minho’s heart tries to beat out of his chest. He tries not to pick apart the ‘too’ in that sentence because Minho hadn’t said anything, has never said anything, but he tries so hard to  _ show _ it— “Thanks.”

For Minho, love isn’t about whispered confessions in the dead of night or deep conversations over dinner. Love is the presents he buys for Jisung when they remind Minho of his smile, love is the food he pays for when they eat together, love is looking out for Jisung when he can’t remember to look out for himself. He bends over and presses a kiss to Jisung’s forehead and thinks about all the different ways he says ‘I love you’ that he didn’t realize Jisung could hear until now. “Go to sleep, idiot.” 

“Good night,” Jisung mumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around himself and more than half-asleep already. 

Minho walks out of the room with a lighter heart and a smile pulling involuntarily at his lips.)

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully that pov change at the end wasn't too confusing! 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/yersin_a) | [tumblr](https://littlenookofnonsense.tumblr.com/) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/yersin_a)


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